Trial and Error
by BoredomIsAnUnderstatement
Summary: Just a fight scene and a sex scene that I needed to make to practice, using one of my favorite pairings, Slade/Robin! Dedicated! Perhaps fluffy? Or dark? Who knows. Rated M for obvious reasons.
1. A Killer's Dawn at Midnight

**TT Story: _Trial and Error_**

**Chapter One: A Killer's Dawn at Midnight**

**Disclaimer: Oh, _please_, I only WISH that I could own the Teen Titans…although, I'm _pretty _sure that I _could_ just be happy with owning Slade, really…. XD lolz!**

**A.N.: So, can y'all keep a secret? Well, here's mine: I have absolutely NO experience whatsoever with writing _any _type of fight scene _or_ sex scene. This is basically just my set of practice rounds with the damn things.**

**Also, I have decided to dedicate this entire thing to both Wynja and SladinForever, because I asked for their help and they gave it to me in the _exact_ way that I needed it; no flames, just valuable suggestions! So, thanks, girls, and I really hope y'all like this! (Oh, and Wynja? This is the present that I told you you'd get for your _The Best Christmas Present Ever_, okay? ;) )**

**_Mmmm_…. I _think _it'd be best if this were read with the sort of feel that you might have if you were reading a sonnet. Don't ask me why, that's just what I think would be best.**

**---**

Robin leapt from rooftop to rooftop in the light, drizzling night rain, determination seemingly permanently drawn onto his features. He was out alone again, searching for the one man alive that could make him fight in rage, beg for mercy, and scream with frustration within seconds of each other. He was searching far and wide for Slade.

He needed to find him.

He needed to fight him.

He needed to _end_ him.

But where _was _the bastard? The boy had been out hunting the man for hours, but still not a trace of him was to be seen. He was beginning to get angry, first at the mercenary for being so astute and imperceptible, and then at himself for not being able. But able for _what _he wasn't quite certain yet.

Able for nothing, for the unexpected that one should _always_ expect?

Or able for everything, for the always anticipated but _never_ fulfilled?

Robin allowed his thoughts to wander as he rested tiredly on the roof of a tall building that had designated itself in the center of the city. He leaned against the side of one of the sky-lights that was in the middle of the flat quarter, and it was shaped like a triangle and colored a bleak, undesirable blue. He gave a weary look around the desolate place, but he figured that if Slade _was,_ in fact, here at this very moment, then he probably would have made himself clearly known by now. He sighed, aware that the pursuit of his enemy had undoubtedly been over before it had even began, and slumped over in defeat against the glass. He rubbed the eyes that were behind his damp mask, wishing that, for just _once_, something would go his way. But it was a wasted and pointless desire, and he knew it.

But, oh, how wonderful it would be to _finally _get something that he wanted! He _deserved _at least a _little_ compensation for all of the work that he had done, all of the exhausting, time-consuming effort that he put into _every little thing_. To be honest, he was getting tired of being tired all the time simply because he laid his all into all that he did. He knew, too, that he desperately needed a break, but he would never give himself one, no matter how much it was necessary for him to have it. There would always be _something_ that was required to get done, and _he_ would always be the one to deal with it. Because if he didn't, then who would? This was a question that Robin was constantly asking himself, and he found it to be a great way to get himself back to the job at hand whenever he really didn't want to do it. But the great words were already losing their effect on him, and he was getting rather annoyed at having to listen to them all the time in his psyche.

As he heard a deep roll of thunder somewhere in the distance, he gave one last glance around the area before he got up and decided to head home. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep that night, the way he so often couldn't, but he would at least try. And then, in the morning, when he would drag himself out of bed without his sleep, he would crawl off towards the training room and toil away, trying -- and failing -- to perfect himself. He would come out later and cook breakfast for everyone, force on his practiced smile, and work with them on their different cases. They would probably fight a monster or a villain or two, win, and then go out for a pizza as a way of congratulating themselves on the victory, coming back to the tower soon after, "full" and "happy". Beast Boy and Cyborg would be busy playing against each other on one of their video games while arguing about which was better, meat or tofu, with Raven making sarcastic comments about…well, everything, really. Starfire would pester Raven by saying that she wanted to go to the "mall of shopping" with her or how they should do girly things with each other that normal earth girls did, while Raven would deny every tactic the alien would try. Eventually, Robin would go out on patrol while everyone else would go off to bed, saying that he was going to make sure that the city was safe, when really, he just needed to get out and _do _something. And if that something meant going around, looking for Slade, then so be it.

_How annoyingly predictable this life is, _a small voice in the back his mind said. Robin blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that voice to come up the way it did, and he _definitely_ hadn't known that it would say something so strange. He didn't even know that he could _have_ thoughts like that. Thoughts of that variety seemed so…_jaded_. Cynical. Selfish. Mean.

_Honest_.

Robin would never admit it to anyone, but he knew that the voice spoke the truth. But what was even worse was that he didn't hate the voice for it, he simply felt…quiet. He wasn't sure if such a thing could be considered an emotion, but that's how he felt. The quiet was neither a good thing nor a bad thing, it was just something that felt similar to tranquility but was far more confusing, but somehow not upsetting. Not in the least.

He had given this emotion a name a few months ago, when he had first felt it, and oddly enough, it had only taken him a few seconds to give it the name that fit. He didn't understand it, though, and that was mostly what was bothering him about it, if it bothered him at all.

If what the voice meant by what it said was that he should leave the Titans, then did this feeling -- this quietness -- mean that he agreed with it? The conscious part of his mind said no, but his heart did not…but it didn't say _yes_, either.

Robin growled out loud, barring his teeth almost animalistically as he neared the edge of the building. He _hated_ how flummoxing his thoughts could be! They needed to be in check! But would they _ever _truly be…?

As Robin whipped out his Bo staff, knowing that he'd have to pole vault his way over to the next building since it was much higher up than his current position, he thought he heard the whisper of soft footsteps behind him. Scratch that: he _knew_ he'd heard them.

"Leaving so quickly, Robin? Funny. Here I was, thinking you were…_looking for something_…"

The "something" that had said those words had sounded smoother than silk but colder and harder than ice and had spoken quite dangerously, with all the vicious intent that resided behind such words and more. There was no need for the Titan to whirl around on his toes and face the man that was now before him to figure out who it was; he had known it was Slade from the first sound he had heard come from the man's feet.

"_Slade_," he snarled as he fell into his fighting stance, the Bo staff in his hand now held as a weapon instead of just a simple length of metal to jump around with.

"_Robin_," Slade leveled calmly, but his demeanor still dripped with frost, hinting that the boy was not out of hazardous waters yet. Not that Robin expected to be. He had been looking for a fight with the criminal, and now that he'd found one, there was no way he'd give it up.

Another snarl escaped the teenager's throat, and if he didn't know any better, Robin would swear that Slade was smiling -- or at least, smirking -- behind his mask from what he said next: "Oh, Robin, I'm _hurt_; I thought that you would've been _happy _to see me. After all, I _am _the reason why you came out here tonight, aren't I?" -- it wasn't a question, it was a proclamation with a useless question mark at the end of it. He could have very well made it a simple period instead of that stupid question mark, but he did it just to insult Robin by feigning innocence, and they both knew it. "Just like every other night you go out on patrol…. My, my, how…annoyingly _predictable _your life is…."

That single statement right there -- the one that had somehow flown directly from _his_ mind to _Slade's_ mouth -- was the one thing that set Robin off like a rocket. With a loud cry that couldn't even compare to the fury that he felt, the adolescent brought his free hand back into a fist and set it flying upwards to meet the man's jaw. But rather than it connecting with the masked face that it should've hit, it was caught by Slade's own vise-like grip. As the strong fingers and palm wrapped around and covered Robin's entire hand, sudden, absolute pain shot through it as his bones were cracked and crushed.

There's an interesting thing about rage, however: when one let's such a dark fervor to take complete control over oneself, it becomes nearly impossible to feel any pain at all until the emotion is wholly spent, despite how intense that pain should be. Slade could see this feeling now emanating from Robin as the teen brought his foot up and slammed it against his chest, sending him into the downpour and landing with a grinding slide onto the floor of the roof a few yards away. His lips were set to show all his teeth, his nose flared as he inhaled and exhaled the sharp, frigid air, and his eyes being glaring white slits through his soaking black hair had nothing to do with the rain that was falling far more heavily than before. There was no fear, there was no agony, there wasn't even any willpower or restraint. There was only anger and hatred.

Although it was just a flicker on his firm young face, Slade saw it and immediately knew what it was and what it meant, as he had seen it probably dozens of times during his career.

The beginnings of a killer were finally showing through Robin, and it was obvious to the man that _he _was going to be the boy's first.

"A killer's dawn at midnight…. How poetic…." Slade murmured with a hidden grin as he looked up at his adversary from the ground, sitting up slightly on his elbows to see him clearly. If he was indeed going to be Robin's first "victim" (could he really call himself that? He _did _deserve whatever was coming to him), which he didn't doubt for a second, he was going to make sure that the boy knew _exactly _what was going on the whole way through it.

But his tauntings went unheard of as Robin slowly advanced on him. "_Get up_," he growled lowly, his entire body shaking with his pent up wrath as his unbroken knuckles tightened upon his staff.

Slade's grin widened even more. This might actually be _fun_…. "_No_," came his challenging reply, his voice just as low and hard as Robin's had been. He was almost eager to see where this was going, and he soon saw where as the smaller of the two knelt down beside him and grabbed him by his shirt with his massacred hand, yanking him frontward.

"Fine," was all that he said before he whipped his staff back behind him and snapped it forwards again around his torso, bringing the full force of it to the side of Slade's skull. A diminutive grunt was heard over the dull boom of thunder when the metal cracked itself against him, and Slade was almost seeing stars as he rolled away from the wallop.

Turning over onto his front, Slade tried to get onto his hands and knees, into a position to jump to his feet, but Robin wouldn't let him. With another thwack of the Bo, he was slammed onto his stomach again, but still the blows didn't stop. Robin kept beating him with the rod, blind to what he was doing now, and Slade would tolerate it no longer. Rounding onto his already-welting back, he caught the staff in his waiting hand when it tried to go for his chest.

"Enough," he said coldly, seething. With that, he grasped another part of the long pole with his other hand and sent the enraged Robin flying, crashing somewhere beyond Slade's head. But the bird didn't stay there for long; instead, he flipped himself up once more, and, with a resounding screech, raced towards the rogue as he picked himself up.

When he got within distance of the man, Robin turned, brought his leg up, and shot it out in a perfect side kick, made heavier with the water that drenched it. Slade had figured that he might try as much, however, and had blocked the strike to his abdomen with the "borrowed" bar that was still in his hold.

If Robin's foot could break a six-feet-long, two-inches-in-diameter, titanium-alloy Bo staff in _half_, then what could said foot do to a certain someone had it actually hit its intended target? The thought whispered itself through Slade, but he took no notice of it as he skillfully dodged another attack that was attempted upon his person, charily relinquishing the broken shaft pieces and tossing them away, out of sight. Fists and feet were being hurled at him from every angle, forcing him backwards, and it was getting harder to avoid and block them all.

Finally, however, he saw an opening, and he took it. Robin had left his body unguarded in the heat of it all, and when Slade's clout unexpectedly collided against his solar plexus, he was propelled back and instantly crumpled to the floor.

Robin's breaths were deep and heavy as he stared up into the rain, the clear drops mingling with the sweat on his skin as his sentiments died on his face. Now, only quiet remained within him, but he wasn't sure if he even wanted to feel _that_ much anymore.

He simply wanted to stop.

Then, Slade stepped closer to him, entering his vision at his side as a silhouette surrounded by a blanketed grey. The deluge bounced off of him in an outlining spray, and Robin saw something in his gaze that he never wanted to see again, especially not from him: he saw disappointment.

Robin had lived with disappointment all his life, oozing from those he loved the most.

And he _hated_ it.

"Robin, Robin, Robin…." Slade cooed softly, "What's wrong? Don't you _want_ to fight me anymore?"

"No," he said, and his voice was soft and whispered. It hurt so much to breathe…!

The man cocked his head to the side, his silvery eye dark. Robin had never refused battle from him before, offered or not. "No?" he asked; he was genuinely bemused.

Robin veered his judgment away from that silver, and instead returned to the grey.

"…What _do_ you want?" Slade murmured, and he truly wished to know.

Genuine…. True…. Disappointment….

Robin's lexis were grasped from his lungs and pushed out of him, his body responding no more, but he was the same. No effort showed, only quiet. "I…want to stop."

Slade knew better, though.

He knew Robin didn't mean stop _fighting_.

He meant stop _living_.

"You've given up," he said, but his words sounded strange against the pounding of the gale.

"Yes," was all that was hummed from the being. He was not Robin, not the one Slade distinguished, but a mortal, a thing, it only looked and sounded like the hero, but him it was not.

"You're lying." He would not believe the forsaken body of what once was.

It did not reply, but slowly brought the hands to the face, the arms shaking from the restraint of the gravity that was now too heavy for the dead. The fingers clutched Robin's mask before pulling the black shield off completely.

Slade turned away, not wanting to see those orbs of cobalt.

"Get up," he hissed, mimicking the words that the now-gone Titan had said what felt like days ago.

"Look at me."

Slade obeyed, but he was angry.

It blinked slowly as it stared upon the man, it's deep respirations becoming shallow as the time ticked by, and again it turned back to the clouds.

"Kill me."

**---**

**A.N. 2:**** O.O Whoa. Okay, I don't know how this is even possible **_**or **_**how it happened, but **_**somehow**_**, this little practice-drabble-thing actually got a PLOT.**

…_**Fuck.**_

_**THAT.**_** Was definitely NOT intended. Sorry, plot-lovers.**

**Sadly, though, this one kind of reminds me of someone else's fanfic that, although I absolutely LOVED it, mine was not intended to follow. Sorry for that to whoever wrote that kick-ass story (and sorry AGAIN for not remembering any names. You ARE in my favorite stories, though!--THAT much I can remember!)**

**Alright, well, thanks anyway for reading, y'all! Now, please, **_**please**_**, PLEASE tell me everything that's wrong with this, m'kay? I really need to know, so PLEASE TELL ME EVERYTHING! I DON'T CARE, JUST LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT AND MAKE IT BETTER! (Wow, that's a lot of capitals right there! Haha!) Anyway, everything's appreciated, y'all! Thanks for all the help with this and, yes, there shall be a Chapter Two.**

_**What?!**_** I gotta fit some sex in here **_**some**_**how! XD**

**P.S.: Yes, I know it's rather small and there's not much fighting (as I now realize), but please don't hate me for that! X] **_**Maybe**_** it'll get better…?**


	2. In Too Deep

**TT Story: **_**Trial and Error**_

**Chapter Two:**** In Too Deep**

**Disclaimer:**** Yeah, Teen Titans? SOOO NOT mine. And the song "You Look Like Rain"? Also. NOT MINE. It's by Morphine. *looks away in shame* Alas, if only, if only…. *le sigh* 8C**

**A.N.:**** OKAY! SO! CHAPTER TWO! Right!…Not much to talk about here. Umm…. This is the story's sex scene, and…it's between Slade and Robin, aaaannnnd…I love this song (see above), and if you haven't heard it, THEN YOU SHOULD. It pretty much inspired this entire chapter for me because it's so epically amazing. But don't worry, this is no song-fic (seriously, I'd shoot myself if it were). C: Actually, a LOT of songs inspired this, like "Starry-Eyed" by Ellie Goulding and "Colorless Color" and "Tigerlily" by La Roux, but Morphine's song influenced me the most, I guess. :D**

**Damn, though. I can't BELIEVE it took me more than a YEAR to finish this! I am SO SORRY, **_**SladinForever**_** and **_**Wynja**_**! It should NEVER have taken so long. I just didn't know how to begin it, and then I just didn't want it to end! D8**

**But anyway, this chapter is basically where the story's getting its M-rating from, so, you know, turn back now while you still can if that's just not your thing (but then, why read it in the first place, eh?).**

**Well, first written sex scene EVER, here we go! Wish me luck! XD**

––

"Please…do this," the non-creature murmured. There was so much pain already; nothing could be added to it that could make it become any worse than this. It wasn't even an ache from a body anymore – there was simply nothing left.

Nothing was worth it.

_Quiet_…._ Dangerous Quiet_….

"No."

The pseudo-Robin closed its eyes in desolation; it should have known Slade would never agree to do as he asked – pleaded – begged.

Suddenly, the rain was gone from its face, its borrowed body, but the sound of blades splicing into the rough concrete remained constant and aggrieved within the ears. The eyes were allowed exposure to the liquefied air once more, if only out of habit to being implanted into a peculiar situation, not because of true curiosity or, as was supposedly the original choice, suspect concern whenever Slade was involved in a matter such as so.

But above was no masked monster – _such a strange word!_ – _was it ever even used before on another not itself?_ – _who_–_?_

It knew perfectly well "who". It didn't want to believe it, though.

"Wake. UP." Those words escaped immaculately created lips beneath a sharp, hooked nose, and the single eye was hard and precise, seemingly _made_ from silver itself. Hair of pearl was quickly being drenched with the icy water, drips of it sliding down a chin to a smart, short-cut beard of the same beautiful color. But it was an order, and Quiet refused to listen.

Again, the eyes closed, agreeing to be habitual no longer.

Its shoulders suddenly began to shake roughly. "WAKE UP, ROBIN!" Slade – _so beautiful! – but how? –_ shouted, fear laced and weaved into the words cried.

It ignored the command again. Quiet simply repudiated him.

Lips pounded onto its own, and that's when he woke up.

Eyes snapping open like the lightening cracking above, Robin nearly jumped out of his skin. But Slade didn't stop, he never stopped, and for once, Robin didn't want him to. With the fervor of the gale, he lunged his response into the man, his tongue seeping into his mouth just as Slade was maneuvering his.

'_Thank God,'_ Slade's thoughts muttered. He'd the notion that the boy had given up completely. The fever…the kiss was so heated, it _was_ a fever. Hands roved down the boy's sides, slowly, slowly warming them up from the cold. Nails dug into Slade's back, and the assassin arched into it like a cat. The little bird truly _had_ awakened….

"You…taste like sky…" Robin whispered mysteriously as they broke apart, his eyes half-lidded as he stared at the frightening grandeur before him.

"Because you look like rain…" Slade finished. The thunder rolled deep and magnificent around them, and he stole his advantage over the teen once more.

The man's fingertips ripped the cloth on Robin's back, practically shredding it as he dragged his hands across. The fabric was of no flimsy material; he'd had to grip hard for it to cleave so easily, and he would almost pride himself on the fact if his mind hadn't been so busy.

More, Robin wanted more – he desired something! Such a striking change, and it was wonderful! He pushed himself off the concrete, feeling grounded no longer, if anything, he felt more alive than he ever had before. His lips and tongue pushed gruffly into Slade's as he sat up, rushing for dominance in a game he would never win, but was pleased to play in at the least. Fists gripped waist at the movement, the mercenary didn't want him to go.

But the boy wouldn't leave; he would never leave if he always felt like this! Instead, his fingers tugged at the seam of his brightly colored shirt, pulling away slightly as he pulled it up. Slade didn't understand what he was doing at first, was this a trick? Was he a fool? Was this not what Robin wanted? It had seemed so, but perhaps he was wrong?

At the sight of pale, bare flesh being pierced by rain, he knew he was right and all doubts were erroneous. The boy stared at him out of shy, inquiring, astonishing blue eyes; he wanted this, but did Slade? What had he meant by the kiss, then, if he didn't? Oh, questions, questions, questions, what did they all mean? He was confusing himself all over again, just as Quiet had, the Questions were almost as debauched as Quiet–!

And then the Questions were gone. Slade had him again, holding him tightly and tenderly all at once, as if he would never let go. Then, leaning back, he unclipped his breastplate and wrenched the black Kevlar over his head and away from his body, pushing straight into the teen ever more. Their tongues returned to their dance, teeth grazing against the other's muscle, roughly driving towards a newer goal. Robin's tights were being tugged at, belt already gone, just as Slade's was. The man's mouth moved onward towards the Titan's throat, making him gasp into the volley, breathless. This was euphoric – but how could this bête noire of his nightmares take him on such a high, like an addict on a new form of morphine? He was seeing stars in the colors of the rain, the massaging palms of the enemy arresting new intrigue into his body. He struggled to fully disrobe himself and the devil now grinding his hips dangerously into his frame, but his efforts were futile as, with a growl of frustration, Slade tore the younger man's pants away before doing the same to his own.

Smoothly, gently, the calloused yet amorous hands worked Robin onto his back again. It was all about his hands – large, pale, rough, careful, beautiful, caressing, they were everything. _They_ were his high, they created this god of hell and sex above him. What couldn't they do? They were givers of pain and now love – but – was this –?

No.

This was not love.

This was possession. This was sex.

Nothing. More.

It didn't matter to Robin, though. He would deal with it. He didn't care.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

_He did._

Intense agony filled his body, and he almost screamed into the downpour because of it. Slade buried himself deep into the petite Boy Wonder, reveling at every inch and squirm he felt. Robin was flushed, hating but lov– enjoying the feeling that was being rushed into him. His lithe structure couldn't handle such power and ferocity, but he took it in stride, rubbing and grinding to the rhythm. Slade rocked into him, trying to be temperate but failing, the tight teen feeling like a high to the man. Surely this was a vision from some hallucinogen? This form of rapture could not exist outside the mind!

Warmth coiled within the young man's belly, tensing up like a knot and constricting still. He wound his long legs around the murderer's torso, trying to find a way to release the building, unknown strain. His nails dragged down Slade's back like claws as sudden pleasure tightened the knot ever more at the change in position; the man now pounded into a spot he never knew he had. He bent into it, growling and hissing and moaning, in no way having felt like this before. If anyone were to see him in such a state – the Titans, Batman! – but none of that mattered right now. He was in too deep to give a damn anymore.

His virgin body shuddered wildly, polished with the water that dripped from the man above. Slade grunted, his eye shut tight in concentration. Robin couldn't help but stare: he…he loved this man, didn't he? Nobody else mattered to him when he was in the vicinity, nothing created an image in his mind like this fiend did. His hand, of its own accord, reached up and ever so softly touched the face of the fallen seraph with the starry eye, wondering if he was really there or if it was all just a dream. It was in surprise that the man in question looked at the bird beneath him. He had been pondering just the same thing, but he worried that if he chanced to see, then the salient fantasy would disappear like morning's last light. But it didn't, and he could esteem the tint of the rain on his skin, some style of colorless color. His mouth stormed the one below, needing to feel the truth of the situation, just as Robin's needed to. Their atmospheres were combining, catching up to a speed race that challenged each other to the extent of existence that no one could possibly withstand but them.

"S-Slade…." he whispered as the animal licked his neck, trying to taste the salt of his era. He needed to tell him, he simply had to, there was no way he could keep this within himself and not spontaneously combust from the insanity and honesty of this lightning secret. "I've just realized that…I'm…in love with you…." He tried to chuckle it off as if it were nothing, but it came out as a choked down sob. He hurt so much with anticipation that he couldn't breathe.

The new pulse within him never quickened, never slowed, but merely remained steady as the tension grew and grew to the breaking point. It was then that the killer leaned down near the hero's ear and whispered one single word: "Don't."

Liberation. They released their forces together like a cataclysmic star breeching into super nova, and tears flew down Robin's countenance as if they were the resulting star dust of the event. It was the highest high he'd ever had, and yet the boy felt so stranded from that damn word that murdered his entire world.

One last kiss upon a cheek, and the man was gone with his clothes without a trace, leaving behind nothing. Nothing save the boy.

He must have lied there for an hour upon that rooftop, naked, just listening to and feeling the shadows' rain that he wished could wash him away. But it didn't, and it was with brine and free water lining his façade that he dressed and headed for "home."

––

The torrents began to die as he struggled into his tower, disabling the security to enter and reactivating it upon entry, just as he always did. But no more would he search the dark for the wicked beast of his imaginings. From now on, night after damnable night, he would lie in his bed and ignore the sleep of necessity and the hunt of desire. He simply prayed that his heart could find quick solace in his lone bedroom.

"Robin?"

No such luck.

"_What,_ Raven?" he growled lowly, not turning around. He didn't want her to see his face.

No words were spoken as her tentative hand reached out and touched the palm of his.

An instant later and the girl broke down crying, shaking, eyes wide, landing on her knees on the floor in shock. The emotions, the beauty, the pain she felt from his heartbreak!– it was too much for her to handle alone. "R-Robin–!"

But her leader, her brother, her best friend, was already gone.

And Raven, the emotionally detached and ignorant, was left to weep at the love that was lost.

––

**A.N.2:**** …I have nothing left to say, other than I deeply, DEEPLY apologize for being THIRTEEN MONTHS LATE on this chapter. XC**

**Thanks to **_**I'mawsomedealwithit**_**, **_**viperblack**_**, **_**SolenmSerpent**_**, **_**tinclay**_** (love ya, babe! XD), **_**Azrael**_**, **_**Peeta's Lover**_**, **_**Zurizip**_**, **_**Wynja**_** (the Wonderful), and **_**Kawaii-kuro**_** for all those UHmazing reviews! Seriously y'all, you make me feel so loved, like WHOA. XD And I'm so horrible to y'all? How horrid of me! XC I'm sorry! :'C**


End file.
